


No Returns

by pettiot



Series: Dragon Age II Kinkmeme [7]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, a most terrible pun, fantasising, here have my mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettiot/pseuds/pettiot
Summary: Leandra's lonely.
Relationships: Leandra with almost all the boys
Series: Dragon Age II Kinkmeme [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619464
Kudos: 1





	No Returns

**Author's Note:**

> For a kinkmeme prompt for Leandra and the party boys, which failed to develop beyond fantasising.

  


Because Leandra’s already got the mansion, and Marian’s already got a Vael. Security, in other words. The social standing. But forget all that: Leandra had always been more heavily motivated by emotion, want, love, than by all those other things, then and now. When she thinks about how to fill her days, she decides she wants to go courting for fun, not profit. Malcolm was wonderful and worldchanging, but it also wasn’t fun, it was heavy and heartwrenching and he meant everything to her and then he was gone. Not again. Fun, she thinks. Fun can come and go and always be found again. Walking her daughter’s inappropriate party like the proper hostess her daughter will never be, she overhears Isabela’s constant commentary about just how fun courting can be. Even if Isabela uses different words. Which also begin with “f”.

Of course, Leandra can’t risk a child; even bordering on menopause, she’s not quite there, and it would be rather horrendous to poor Marian to present her with a halfbrother or halfsister. But a little scandal never hurt anyone. 

Introspective, Leandra catches sight of Anders’ profile in a momentary lull; sad and tired and tremendously romantic when he’s not busy dominating the conversation, inkstains on his sleeves and all that sweaty dangerous body hidden under the coat. No formal social graces, but a charm that fills the gaps and a smile that makes her want to rub the lines away from his brow and pull his face to her bosom, if only after a proper shave, and sing him a song. Anything to stop him talking, really. A face like that, he doesn’t need to talk. He seems to work himself into a frenzy every time he opens his mouth, especially if the elf is around. No, she wants to give Anders a good cuddling, not conversation. It’s not like he reminds her of Malcolm!

But then there’s the elf. The way Leandra can’t help but squeak a little every time Fenris lopes over to the table to fill his wine glass. He’s not very pretty for an elf, lanky and awkward, but he has an energy that seems dense, compacted, compared to the energy that radiates from Anders, which is explosive and draws the eye. Fenris knows all the formal social graces, even if he does deliver them with odd hesitations which tell her he’s remembering from observation, not from understanding; he would fit in anywhere with a bit of training. He brings her wine without fail every time he tops his own glass, she notes. Elf lovers are really in vogue these days, and Fenris would probably benefit from a mother as a lover more than most of Marian’s friends. She could bathe him, and trim his hair, and teach him to read. Maybe a bit of perfume. He’s one who really needs to talk more. With his head cradled on her bosom. 

Oh, maybe she could have both of them! One to each side. Fenris talking low poetry and Anders…not talking. Maybe she wouldn’t trim Fenris’ hair after all, just a good washing. Gold and silver spilling over her decolletage, as she strokes between thick Anderfels strands and the fine, silken elven ones. Plait their hair together. Make them act in tandem as they kiss down both halves of her body…

‘Hawke,’ Anders says eventually, ‘why is your mother looking at us like that?’

Marian looks. Grabs Fenris as he passes on the fourth lap of the room, in his happily drunk and restless stage. ‘How much wine did you give my mother?’

‘Uh. One goblet.’

‘And how many times did you fill up that goblet?’

Fenris looks at his own, quizzical.

‘Oh no. Oh, please no.’ Marian sings, ‘Mother, mother, it’s time for a glass of water. And coffee. Very strong coffee.’

Marian's arm looped through hers, Leandra burbles past them all, saying something quite cheerful about baths and the wonderful condition of her plumbing and anytime, boys, anytime, such lovely hair, before Hawke manages to hustle her into the kitchen.

‘A hot bath might be nice for a change,’ Fenris says eventually, because the silence radiating from Anders is deafening and silence is a terrible thing to let the mage have, because he always tries to fill it.

Anders coughs a little. ‘Hightown women don’t just go offering the use of their bathrooms for nothing.’

‘Perhaps I could bring a bottle?’

‘Erm. Yes. Yes, you do that, Fenris. Leandra would absolutely love it. Bring two. And some candles. Make sure Hawke’s not home, though.’

In the kitchen, Marian thrusts her mother into a room already occupied. ‘Oh,’ says Varric, busy at the stove, ‘Sorry, Hawke. I was making coffee.’

‘You hero,’ Marian says. ‘Here, have my mother. I’ve got to get back before Fenris and Anders try to make conversation. Isabela’s probably already laying bets on who gets the black eye this time.’

Leandra and Varric contemplate each other across the table. With their fortunes firmly shackled together after the Deep Roads joint venture, they spend a lot of time together in their shared accountant's office; tonight Leandra’s eyes are particularly bright, particularly cheerful, Varric notes. It’s a nice change.

‘Good evening, Serah Tethras,’ Leandra says, ‘I believe my daughter just gave you an opening.’

  



End file.
